


Scars

by sprnva_trash



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Episode Related, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 4, We Die Like Men, no proofreading mandatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29320329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprnva_trash/pseuds/sprnva_trash
Summary: Sometimes we all just need a little hurt/comfort in our lives. Based on a headcanon online that Martin has some scars from his mother, even if they’re not all noticeable.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	Scars

“What about this one?”

Jon hummed softly as Martin traced the scar that crossed over his shoulder. He had almost forgotten about it, and Martin gently running his thumb over it sent a wave of remembrance over his body, shivering slightly at the flash of the blade in his mind.

“That one was from Melanie. She had been afflicted with the Slaughter because of a ghost bullet, and I got stabbed trying to get it out, since we woke her up.”

Martin laughed softly, and Jon didn’t want that laugh to end. Martin’s voice was honey on the ears, and Jon wanted to relish in the sweetness of it. He hadn’t heard a laugh in weeks while they were living in the safe house, and now that it’d made an appearance he wanted so desperately to make him laugh over and over again. Anything to hear that sweet, deep, viscous laugh that was so unlike Martin’s normally mezzo speaking voice.

“What’s so funny, sir?” If not for the tone, maybe Martin would have stopped laughing; but Jon’s tone was nowhere near annoyed, instead showing off a light-hearted amusement. Dare he say he also heard love in it.

“I just… think you were a little stupid for trying to cut it out of her while she was asleep.”

“Oh trust me, I regretted it after I got hurt. But after that… I mean, we got our Melanie back, so it was alright.”

“The Melanie that hates your guts?”

“Alright, you, don’t remind me.” Jon looked over him and suddenly turned on his side. “My turn to ask.”

Jon hadn’t realized how many little bruises and scars Martin had. Martin wasn’t normally one for taking off his clothes, but as he grew more comfortable, and since they were isolated in that safe house Daisy allowed them to stay in, Martin grew accustomed to walking around the house without a shirt or without trousers. Sometimes both. Pleasantly surprising, as Jon always got a good look at his lover’s body, but definitely a point when Jon started to notice. All of the indentations, the bumps, the raised marks that decorated Martin’s body alongside the plethora of freckles that dotted his back like constellations in an evening sky.

“There’s really not much to ask about, but go on ahead, Jon.” Martin looked at him like he’d hung the moon. Of course, to Martin, he did.

“Alright… Let’s start with this one.” He gently took Martin’s hand and caressed a scar on his thumb gingerly, as if one wrong move would open up the wound even though it had long since closed, skin cells binding together and forming the puckered scar.

“Right! A cooking accident when I was younger. I was making food for my mother, and I cut my hand with the knife.”

“Not surprising.” Jon chuckled softly and pressed a sweet kiss to the scar, looking up at Martin with pretty green eyes that he hoped held the world’s biggest pool of affection.

“Quite the klutz, as my mother says,” Martin responded, waggling his finger gently at Jon when he moved his mouth away. “I think dinner that night was supposed to be grilled chicken, but after that accident and a proper ton of crying, we ordered takeout. I’m sure it tasted way better than anything I could have conjured up in the kitchen, I’m a right abomination.”

Jon couldn’t help it. He laughed once Martin took a pause, and Martin broke out into a gleeful smile. Jon’s laugh was so unlike his normal voice. No matter how tired or upset Jon sounded, whether the exhaustion of being The Archivist pervaded his entire being, Jon’s laugh was… god, it was gorgeous. That was as simple as Martin could get, but if Martin had used his poetry? There’d be fifty different comparisons he could make, and he wouldn’t even be able to reuse a single one. Every emotion related to enamorment crossed his mind when he heard a true laugh from his lover, and it was overwhelming in all of the right ways. As Jon’s laugh died down, Martin couldn’t help sweetly pressing a kiss to his jawline, feeling the bristles of his beard and falling even more in love by the second.

Jon finally caught his breath and calmed down enough to continue raking his gaze over Martin’s uncovered body. If he wasn’t looking for something in particular, he’d spend time counting the numerous dots that resembled raindrops on a window. In fact, Jon wasn’t a poet, but he would dare mention that every time he smelled the petrichor, he thought of Martin.

His thought process was interrupted by a long scar that covered his shoulder. “What about this one?”

“... Hm. I don’t really remember, if I’m being honest.”

“How do you not remember? It looks painful.”

“Jon. I am literally the most careless person when it comes to bumping into things, it’s not even funny anymore. I wake up with random scars every day, and bruises and scratches are not really concerning anymore.”

“Fair enough, I suppose. I get a couple of those, mostly from bumping into tables.”

“Honestly, yeah, it’s as simple as that.”

“Well… what about this one?”

Jon brought a hand up to trace an almost invisible scar that had caught his eye. It was well-hidden by the eyebrow hairs Martin had, but the top of it came into view, peeking out as if to say hello with its silent greeting. Martin was silent for a minute, his expression sort of going flat. Not blank, like Jon had learned was Martin’s clueless face. It seemed to be one that Martin got when thinking about the Lonely.

Trauma.

“What was that?” Martin asked. His voice barely kept itself from wavering, and he cleared his throat as he snapped from his reverie. The entire scene flashed before his eyes in that moment, and he could hardly stop it.

“That … that scar. On your eyebrow. Did… did you hit your head or…?” Jon was resisting the urge to look in his head. As tempting as the door was, he had promised to refrain from it. Oh how tempting the door was, the flood of knowledge pushing against the barrier as if it was putting a heavy strain on the metaphorical wood. Jon could practically reach out and touch the knob and it’d all come spilling out, and Jon would be overwhelmed with whatever had entered into Martin’s head that was oh so tempting, so close to his reach—

“I uh… When I was taking care of my mother, I ran into something,” was all Martin said. “Well, i-it was less of running into and she uh… I forgot something of hers that she needed, it was uh…”

Martin was clearly having trouble describing the scenario, and Jon almost felt bad for asking. He gently reached forward and caressed a hand against his cheek.

He flinched away, and it was at that moment, Jon knew this was more than what he was describing.

“She uh— she was upset, and rightfully so I mean— I was— I didn’t mean to do it, really, but it was— it was really bad. I did really bad and I deserved it—,”

“Martin,” Jon started, but it was almost as if Martin didn’t even hear him. His breathing was starting to pick up.

“—After all, sometimes I just— sometimes I’m just a bad son, and I need to be told what’s right—,”

“Martin, honey…”

“—And don’t even get me started on when I make the wrong meal—,”

“Martin.”

Jon didn’t realize that he’d raised his voice a bit until Martin looked at him, tears in his eyes, and he quickly began to try and rectify his mistake.

“Martin, I am… I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice… You were spiralling, I just… I wanted to get you out.”

The man next to him nodded silently, but he didn’t seem convinced. “I-I’m sorry, Jon, I didn’t intend to upset you…”

“Hey, hey…” Jon gently took Martin’s face in his hands. “You didn’t upset me at all, I promise. I’m just worried about you…”

“I… Why?”

“Because… I care about you, a lot. And I’m here for you. Seeing you like this… I want to make it all better, and I know I can’t but… I hope you know that I’m here for you.”

“... Oh, Jon…” Martin’s tears were free-flowing now, and they dribbled down his cheeks and onto the sheet of the bed. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“You did everything. Sometimes I wonder what I did myself to catch your attention.” Jon gently caressed Martin’s cheek, thumb tracing over his lover’s cheekbone with a feather-light touch. God forbid anyone hurt his Martin again, that’s for sure. Jon would raise hell for the love of his life.

“Martin, I need you to tell me when things I do bother you, okay?”

“... Of course.”

“Martin…”

Martin squirmed feverishly under Jon’s look. “I… I know.”

“I understand that it’s hard… we want to do anything we can to please our loved ones. But you have to talk to me… I want you to be happy, and if I do something that bothers you, you need to tell me.”

“And if talking’s hard?”

“... Write a note. Just… give me something, okay?”

Martin sighed deeply. He knows inside that Jon is only trying to help, but this feels like such a monumental task that even only hearing what was requested of him exhausted him to his core. Just the thought of talking about it, it felt like a burden on both himself and the other person, and to do that to Jon of all people? For starters, Jon was going through all of this with Jonah Magnus, and then hiding in the safe house. Plus Jon was prone to anger, what if he didn’t understand? Not everything Martin worried about made sense, he knew that, and Jon had a tendency to dismiss him, especially back when they were still working together in the Institute.

“Martin?”

Jon’s voice, sweet like a melody, brought him back to his senses, and those gentle eyes, greener than a meadow in the middle of summer, sunken in with sleep yet vibrant in color still. It made him feel a little comforted. Yes, this Jon… this Jon was different. Jon wasn’t under the stress of work, he wasn’t asking for Martin to do deceptively hard tasks that just took everything out of him. Martin didn’t have to be his employee here, just his friend and someone to love. And that made things a thousand times better.

“Yes, I’m… I can do that. It’ll be hard, but… I’ll try.”

Jon smiled, and for a second, all was right. Martin almost forgot about everything in the world, just focused on the sweet expression in front of him. Sweeter than sugar, most days. Martin leaned forward and kissed Jon’s forehead before gently pushing his hands away and wiping the tears off of his face.

“Did you know that tears are actually good for the face? They can clean your face and actually help clear pores, leading to less acne.”

Martin scoffed and laughed a bit. “Jon, please.”

“Sorry, sorry! I just thought it was interesting.”

Martin was laughing once again, softer but still kind and sweet, and everything felt right.

From here on, Jon decided he would do anything he could to keep Martin happy. He didn’t know what it would take, but he knew he would try his hardest, even through… whatever was going to happen. It was his vow.


End file.
